


Follow My Voice

by becausehiships, kbvibes



Series: Hedwig Verse [1]
Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Hedwig and the Angry Inch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becausehiships/pseuds/becausehiships, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbvibes/pseuds/kbvibes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was always going to be a life after Glee, that much was imminent.  Now Chris and Darren have to figure out what that means for them amidst the grit and glitter of the Berlin Wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All lyrics used throughout the story are taken from the show. We don't own them. If you aren't listening to the NPH version of the Hedwig Original Cast Recording while reading this fic, you're doing it wrong. As always, let us know what you think!
> 
> Enjoy! xoxo - Desi & Nikkie
> 
> KBVibes on Tumblr.  
> BecauseHisHips on Tumblr.

Post-television life is just as brisk, the city of New York pressuring him to keep up with the rest of the hustle.  It’s not difficult in the solid sense, but it’s been seven years now since he’s had any forms of break lasting more than four days.  The city is aggressively fighting to spit him out already, with that of the less-than-welcoming Broadway critics, but he is determined to get through and surprise them all before the run is over in July.

For the first time in his life, inspiration is not to be found in the city.  

Despite his New York based life, he looks back fondly on his time in LA.  His days on TV were simple; reviews didn’t matter, the blogs and fans alike would shrug with the excuse of “but, it’s _Glee…_ ” whenever the show didn’t satisfy.  The quality of the production had disintegrated with the passion and distractions of the creative team and he knows Blaine should have disappeared three seasons ago, yet he’s so grateful that Blaine lived on for as long as he did and with Kurt.  He’s glad that at least he got his happy ending. 

He knows he could have only ever been Hedwig with the experience of being Blaine; no one would have been willing to take a chance on him here if it hadn’t been for that resume builder. He’s grateful to have had not one, but two socially important roles in his life.  If he’s forced into retirement now, he’ll be content.  Bored as fuck, but fulfilled. 

Lately, with the difficulty of his current gig, he’s openly missing those days and reminiscing as though it ended years ago.  His co-workers on Broadway are not entirely friendly because to them, he’s a spoiled privileged celebrity who waltzed right in without an audition or blink of an eye. They have no idea how hard he’s worked.  They’re just jealous they didn’t have Ryan Murphy as their Fairy Godfather.  It’s hard to go from _Glee_ to the coldest group of people he’s ever encountered, let alone worked with.  He was definitely spoiled on set.   

He quickly loses touch with people that used to mean the world to him when he moves out east.  For one, she stops calling knowing simply that there’s no need anymore. Their relationship was what it was, and all of the mess that life put them through was a serious strain on their friendship. He’s free of the bind now, of the cold and somehow seductive agreement that existed only because he couldn’t keep his feelings (and fingers) to himself at Paramount.

He has also stopped calling, and that is a fact he finds even harder to accept. That other soul who rode out the storm beside him and was the ray of light that kept him sane by simply being.  For five years, they managed to maintain a professionalism and outrageous responsiveness - the yin to his yang that will never be again. 

The obnoxious ding of the Subway announcing his stop snaps him out of his trip down memory lane.  He throws himself up the stairs and power walks north through the forties; blending in with the crowd is his favorite part of New York.  
    
The gold glitter of his platforms, tied together at the satin laces then thrown over his shoulder like ice-skates, rubs off onto his black tee, transforming him into Berlin Wall and not only with the curtain up. It’s something about the mindset and feel of the character that bleeds into his sense of self as he prepares to take on the role.  It’s a different brand of confidence than he’s ever worn in his day-to-day life. 

He wonders if people suspect that he struts in his apartment with only fishnets and heels, determined to never go down thanks to a broken ankle.  (They would be one hundred percent correct.) He tries his hardest, even if that means hours of excruciating pain until he’s used to the six-inch platforms.  

He turns the corner to welcome the group of usual suspects, establishing his face into some expression of humble appreciation.  Since before the beginning of Darren Criss, name in lights, people have been infatuated with anything he’s attached to, and he tries every day to return the favor by making definitive conversation as he ventures his way toward the stage door.  It’s an easy way to make everybody’s day.   

He’s beyond appreciative and loves it most of the time.  Hell, he’d definitely still be in the 8x8 bedroom in East LA singing _Duck Tales_ to a blinking light without their compassion and tenacity.  He knows that for a fact. They’ve paved the road for him and all he can do is walk it graciously.

Thanking everyone for being here, for standing here day after day waiting to catch a glimpse, he enters the building.  He’s welcomed by stagehands doing this or that and he heads straight up to makeup; it’s a long process to make him pretty.  

Being on Broadway, starring in an important-to-the-world show, is stressful every day of his life, more than he thought it might be.  He finds himself, as they paint on his face, more introverted than ever before.  It’s as if he’s saving himself and his shine for the stage.  Some twisted part of his mind whispers that maybe he has no reason to be so sociable anymore, because the days of impressing sexy colleagues are over.  

And then, like he knows he’s thinking of him at this very second, there’s an incoming text message blinking on the screen of Darren’s phone for the first time since February 26th, almost three months ago.  It positively knocks him on his ass hardly an hour before curtain.  

**“Hey, Dare.  I’m in the city for a few days.”**

If he allows himself to react the way instinct tells him he should, he’d be a complete basket case.  Chris is in the city.  Chris wants Darren to know he’s in the city.  After months of absolutely no contact at all, Chris’ text message could only mean that he wants to meet up with Darren in the city.  Or, at least, that Chris has been thinking about him.  Or is that only Darren’s hopeful, sad, lonely, uneducated hypothesis? Suddenly, it’s more than nerves fluttering in Darren’s stomach; it’s anticipation of something turning into either absolutely everything or nothing at all.  There’s no in between for them.  There never was.   

The rush of sudden emotion is mind-altering and scary, all with a mascara wand centimeters from his cornea. After so long, just when he was beginning to resign himself to the fact that the pieces of his old life simply didn’t fit into the new picture, he pushes himself back in and that has to mean something.  It does. 

He holds the phone in his hand and stares at the short message until the screen goes back to sleep, words and _his name_ fading away. 

When he glances back up to see his reflection in the mirror, the illusion is only about halfway complete.  In a trance, he watches, as they finish the transformation from beginning to end and eventually, there is nothing of the man who left it all behind for an opportunity to make a difference out on the live stage. Berlin Wall is alive and dominating, ready to take on the night. He heads out into the hall to sing his warm up scales, despite the pit in his stomach twisting like a roller coaster at just the thought that _he_ might have thought of him. 

The show is always a blur of frenetic energy, lights, sound, _performance_. Darren is always drenched in sweat after the third song, but the running makeup and slide of the costumes against his wet skin only fuels him further into the mind of the character. He loses himself, and it feels magnetic. 

The influence the show has on the community - to _his_ community - is intimidating so he avoids thinking about it.  He’s not sure exactly what he identifies as, and he’s not sure ever could peg himself as any one thing, but the feeling behind the lyrics and story of Berlin is too heavy.  He wishes he could share this receptivity with someone who would understand.  He wishes he could share it with the one person in the world he knows would sympathize.  But he can’t; they’re not close enough to talk about this anymore. 

Still highly vulnerable from lying his heart down in the center of the stage and letting the entire audience stomp on it, he beelines to his dressing room immediately following the final curtain drop.  He throws on the nearest zip up hoodie, to cover up, and sits down at the vanity.  Staring at his wretched face dripping of sweat and glitter, he lets out an exhale and picks up his phone and twirls it around in his fingers for a few seconds.  In deep thought of what he could possibly text back, he eventually gives up and slams the phone back down on the vanity.   

Now that he has been stripped of the armor of his costumes and wigs, just knowing that they are in the same city again is enough to set every nerve in Darren’s body on hyper-alert. It’s always been like this, except never this long between communications.  He feels a natural ease with most people that he has ever encountered, it’s just part of who he is. 

But. 

But there is always an exception to the rule, and this exception causes him to feel, think and want far too much for his own good.  It has always been life cranked up to maximum volume when it comes to him.   _Complicated_ would be a severe understatement. 

He’s shocked out of his distraction with the light knock at the door, probably a colleague or friend.  He lifts his eyes in the mirror and makes eye contact with the most dazzling version of Chris he has ever seen.  There’s a smirk on his lips and a raised brow above the radiance of his eyes.   

“I could have sworn I got your understudy or something.  You’ve been working out, but I’d recognize that ass anywhere.”  Chris fidgets and looks away after he meets his eyes for one second.  “Thought they forgot to give me the little paper that falls out of the Playbill.”  Chris raises his rolled up Playbill by way of show and tell and smiles that closed-mouth grin that translates to mockery and nerves.  Which is, ironically, exactly what Darren finds himself feeling when their eyes meet for the second time in the mirror.   

Darren is broken glass, shattering right here with transparency in front of the one person who ever allowed him to be as exposed as he is right now.  It’s the same type of breathlessness he felt when he finally realized, with Chris sitting quietly in the corner of his house in LA watching him carefully, that his _team_ played him by encouraging the signature.   

He needs to do what he needs to do and not be fucking ashamed of it for the entirety of 2015.  It’s why he negotiated his own contract for this role.  He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.   

“What is that supposed to mean, Colfer? Are you implying that you’ve come down off your throne long enough to take notice of the lesser beings around you?” Banter is safe and familiar territory between them, even after months of not a word exchanged.  It is what they can depend on now, in an otherwise tense moment where things could feel too substantial and real, as they focus on each other for the first time since Darren accepted goodbye for what it was.  Reality is terrible.  Banter is, well… it’s what they do. 

“I just... It wasn’t what I was expecting, I guess. You were extraordinary.”  Chris’s voice goes quiet.  Shy.  Nothing like what Darren expects.  There are no fireballs or knives of rage and anger in reaction to the way Darren hardly said goodbye at all.  Darren wonders why Chris is so reserved now.  He’s acting like he just met Darren or something.  He’s acting like he does with new people and it’s not cute. 

“Makes two of us.”  Darren turns on the bench to face Chris’ body.  Pushing Chris had never gotten him anywhere he wanted to go, so he’s on patient standby.  He crosses his legs into a crisscross (bare below the tiny shorts he wears for the last scene of the show), tilts his head, and remains tolerant with Chris’ pause in thoughts. 

“I’m here.”  Chris says, by way of explanation.  “Prepping for the book tour.” 

“Yes, of course.  Froggy was always meant to be a New Yorker, huh?” 

“Well, he’s definitely not meant for LA.” 

“Is anyone?”  And this conversation seems bigger than what it is on the surface.  If Darren hadn’t learned better, he’d just submit to the whole thing right now, go batshit crazy, pop a Valium, and let Chris save him once and for all. They could ride their white horses into the sunset and settle in Haight Ashbury where no one cares who the fuck they were before they found their way home.  The raw impulse of the boy he once was nags at him to make this real, but the common sense of the man he has become stops him. 

“Maybe I ran away, Dare.”  Chris offers, almost flippantly as if the reason for him being here should bear no importance to Darren. 

It’ll always concern Darren when Chris is standing in front of him. _Of course_.   

Darren releases a breath that’s lodged, captured deep within his lungs.  He tries to control it before it turns into a hyperventilation and thanks his lucky stars that his training once included external composure.  “You’ll be back.” He stands.  “It’s where the Golden Globes are.” 

“Hm.”  Chris ponders, stalking back and forth across the small space of the dressing room and rubbing his hands against the sides of his jeans, he takes a slow breath of his own and raises his eyes back to Darren’s.  “This isn’t awkward at all, is it?  I mean, you-  Darren, you killed it out there.” There was a clear note of pride in his voice buried down underneath the unsure and the unsaid. It was something Darren hadn’t heard in a long time, not directed at him at least.  “Which is really great for my resume as much as it is for yours.  My very own _TV-Husband_ is Hedwig herself.  I’ve already gotten like three offers because they all know I can keep up with _you_.” 

Darren squints at Chris and, in a split second, decides to keep the conversation serious rather than falling off the road, back into their usual verbal foreplay.  “I’m trying really fucking hard.”  His body shakes, sensing the unfamiliarity in the way he’s so honest with his feelings for the first time since, well… since he voluntarily walked away from Chris three months ago knowing fully well that they could realistically never see each other ever again.  “Thank you.”  Yet, here they are. 

There is profound conversation burning on the tip of his tongue hot enough to light a cigarette and Darren has to physically bite down until it bleeds to keep from spilling over the edge into a mess of pulverizing apology. 

He knows that Chris jumped into a new relationship days after Darren moved, but only because he sought out the truth through the sleazy celebrity gossip site at eleven at night on a Wednesday.  And he brought him to their old spot on the Northeast side of the bridge.  And publicly Instagramm’ed the evidence.  The depths of the pain deep down in his soul on that night is an indescribable stab that he wouldn’t wish on even his worst enemy.   

“So now what?”  Chris looks straight into Darren’s eyes and flinches.  “Do we… go get drunk?” 

Darren raises an eyebrow and falls back into the routine of scrubbing off his face. 

“Don’t be an asshole, Dare.” 

“I have a particular obligation to tend to before we go hide in the corner of some hotel bar, Chris.” 

It’ll be easier if Chris isn’t caught in the flashbulbs and piercing screams that wait for Darren at the stage door.  It’ll be uncomfortable for everyone, as much as Darren aches to walk outside with Chris’s hand in his.  His hand throbs.  He sits on it. 

At Chris’s stricken face, Darren feels the need to explain himself.  He’s never felt the necessity with anyone else.  Typically, he doesn’t care what other people think of him or his thoughts.   

“Stage door.  Why don’t you meet me at the hotel bar… wherever you’re staying?” 

“I’m not- um.”  Chris shakes his head.  “Uh, the London?  It’s only a few blocks.” 

“Done.  Give me forty-five minutes, yeah?” 

“Ye-yeah.”  Chris nods and ruffles his hair a bit, probably disguising himself as best he could in the moment.  He probably didn’t think about this part - how Darren’s fans are also Chris’ fans and surely, he’ll be noticed.   

“Go out the front door and make a left.  Everyone’s waiting at the door and with any luck you can just slip out.” 

Chris squints his eyes at him, tilting his head before nodding.  He turns and disappears into the eerie hallways beneath a Broadway theatre. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and for the positive feedback! We’ve decided to post a chapter of this fic every day for your reading pleasure. It is completed, so we’ll be posting every day for the next five days, not including today. So, enjoy that and know that we’re writing more… like, right now. After I hit post. Enjoy and let us know what you think. Duh.

**Chapter 2**

There is finally no remnant of the show on his face or in his heart; he’s wiped clean of the glitter and the brash emotion he showcases, and _it’s time to punch the clock_.  He steps outside; he lights up Broadway with his presence and gratitude.  The crowd is as big as it’s always been, forty-five minutes is hardly enough time, but he’s persistent in trying to get through to everyone.  When he finishes, he heads north and in some distant part of his mind, he’s sure someone will notice he’s going the opposite of his normal route.  They are masters of observation.  It’s impressive when it’s not scary.  

He ducks into the revolving door ten blocks later, shaking out his curls then fixing them back into the shape they were in the first place.  It doesn’t surprise him that Chris picks the London - it’s classy and expensive, each high-end martini hardly decent enough for a royal, let alone Christopher Paul Colfer. 

Blazing cerulean meets gilded emerald within seconds, and for the space of one heartbeat, all is right in the world.  Darren tangibly recognizes the shift under his feet, his very axis budging back into _flawless._  It is a dangerous precipice he is standing on, one that he tries to remind himself of as he straightens his back and strides toward the table. 

He slides into the booth next to Chris, even if there’s a seat opposite the table.  He gazes into Chris’s bright face for a few more seconds, then searches for the nearest cocktail waitress to flag down.   

“Wine?  Vodka?” 

“Vermouth on the rocks.” 

Darren laughs, radiant and easy.  The world stops for the sake of their comfortability.   “You’re so stupid.” 

Darren orders something else entirely for the both of them as he always wished he could, and rests his elbow on the table in front of them, his chin on his fist. His eyes bulge, rounding at the points in the corners.  “As much as I don’t mind seeing your pretty face around here, tell me why you _really_ came.” 

Chris slouches in his seat a bit.  Darren can never read him when he turns in on himself and he gets frustrated at Chris’ uneasiness and lack of eye contact.  “I told you already. The book tour is coming up, the publishing house is here, and I-” 

“New York needs no excuse, babe.  Willingly coming to see me on Broadway in a sea of people who could recognize you?  Hate to break it to ya, but you’re not the most risky-” 

“LA doesn’t have a proper Broadway.  I couldn’t have possibly done this at home.” 

“I came to Eight.  You’d never...” Darren rolls his eyes.  “Until tonight.” 

“Well, 17 Again was an insider event, and not exactly my style so...” 

“And my dancing around in hardly any clothing is?” 

Chris finds explicit interest in the natural wear and tear of a cedar table situated in the corner of a New York City hotel bar, so Darren takes a deep swig of his drink and stares at Chris’ hands wrapped around his glass. 

“We don’t have a good excuse to see each other anymore.  I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Do we really need one?”  Darren challenges.   

“You tell me.” 

“You’d always been the one who-” 

“Being friends with you was always complicated.  You know how much I hated the pressure.” 

“ _Chris_ -” Darren feels a speech coming on.  He shuts up. 

“Like, maybe none of it would have been worth it, you know? The fans were already enough, and then you had your secrets and all these _projects_.  You had to be so… censored.” 

“I carried more baggage than you wanted to take on. I get it.”  Darren tries to play the comment off with a shrug. 

Chris sighs and averts his eyes; maybe it’s easier that way. “It’s not- I guess I didn’t want to be the one to mess things up for you.  I’d never forgive myself if I let anything slip.” 

Chris is right.  Darren’s true actions had to be uncomfortably restricted to the world, because gossip and tabloids could have actually taken him down and forced him into the end of a career at the beginning.  At least, that’s how they sold it to him via a list on a whiteboard in a fancy conference room in Century City.  She was there that day, squeezing his bicep and whispering that this is something he needs to do if he wants to share his art at all.  In that moment, during that time, it would have been tragic to let anything slip, but it also would have forced him into a sort of damage control that could have possibly ended with him coming out with Chris together. 

“Maybe I would have wanted you to slip.” The comment escapes in a moment of thoughtless honesty that Darren would try to recover from if he gave a shit. “It would have been kind of cool to see you be brash for once.” An awkward, restless silence hangs over the table like a smoke ring.  Darren feels like someone is holding him down with a knee in his throat, suffocating the life out of him.   “Anyway, it’s not like I didn’t fuck shit up for you.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“That guy, the one you went on actual dates with right before we left on tour?  You know how much I fucked up there.” 

“Hey, that was both of us, and what happened… happened. But for the record, I wasn’t ashamed and I don’t regret sleeping with you.  It was definitely unprofessional, but we were young.  And it turns out that it did not ruin our careers.  Win-win.” 

“ _Chris_.” 

“We were young.  I didn’t know you were even aware of that guy, let alone concerned about him.” 

“Of course-” 

“That was a billion years ago. It’s not a big deal.” 

Darren traces an old scar in the wood of the tabletop with his thumb. “Still, it just seems like we stumble over each other too much, considering we’re hardly even friends.  Tell me why.” 

Chris laughs. “Why can’t you ever just come out and say what you actually mean?” 

“I do. _I am_.” 

“Nope.  You are a master of the art of bullshit, Darren.” 

Darren’s lips twitch up into his cheeks and he raises his glass to the other man in salute. “Takes one to know one.” 

They let the moment settle, both taking a pause to breathe and reorient themselves to their surroundings once again.  It was always just too easy to lose track of place and time together, truly becoming the only two beings that existed. Darren falls into Chris’ flashing eyes and Chris into that honeyed whiskey voice. It is a song and dance and they’re the only ones with the music.   

Chris goes so far as to physically shake his head, probably to chase the daze away. “I think we’ll always have a special place in our hearts for each other, whatever that means, because of the things we did together.” 

“Sex?”  Darren hides a smirk in his beverage. He nearly spills the remaining liquor down the front of his shirt when a sharp kick is delivered to his shin.  “Ow, you fuck!” 

“The show, dipshit. No one else lived it from the inside like we did. We created something out of the limited bullshit we were given. That means something to me.” 

“That was all you and your Golden Globe, Colfer.”  He wants to ask what else means something to Chris, or rather who else, but he lacks the nerve. What comes out is a safer line of questioning. “And now?” 

Chris studies him for a second, the scrutiny about all he could handle. “Now?” 

Darren scratches the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tic that doesn’t go unrecognized by Chris’ careful stare.  Darren needs to ask about the new boyfriend, the morbid curiosity is gnawing at him inside like a living, three-eyed creature. If he’s out to hurt himself, this is a fine way to go about it. Having Chris this close and still utterly outside of his reach, it’s hell. 

He lifts his hand at a passing waitress and motions for another drink. “Well.  You came, saw me be fabulous. We’ve rehashed the same old shit we always do at the beginning of the next chapter of our lives. That should just about do it for your closure. That’s what you want, right?  Ability to move on?” 

Anyone who knows Chris any less than Darren surely would miss the momentary flash of hurt in the younger’s eyes that lived and died in the span of two blinks of his lashes. 

It’s almost enough to give Darren the kind of stubborn hope that a younger, dumber version of himself would have traded his life for. He isn’t that guy anymore, though.  He doesn’t need to be sacrificed for something else to make him feel interesting.  Here he is, stronger and larger than life.  He is the Berlin Wall.  Hands don’t shake, palms don’t sweat, and he won’t reach out to someone who doesn’t want to be touched. 

And Chris? Chris has someone waiting for him back in LA. Someone who never will be Darren.   

“That is what you want, isn’t it, Chris? To hash it out enough to say goodbye?” 

Chris’ only answer comes by of a sharp twist of his lips. “I don’t think I’ve told you yet that this show, what you’re doing, I’m… well, I’m impressed. It’s not what I expected from you. But it’s a significant show to the times.” He doesn’t rush through the words, spinning the melting ice cubes in his glass and pointedly not looking at him.  The sound of ice cubes clinking together is audible over the background noise of the bar. When his eyes meet Darren’s again, they are bright and kind. “And here I thought you were done surprising me.” 

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.” 

“Maybe I don’t even know you at all, Darren.  Maybe you’ve become someone else.” Chris pauses and seems to deliberate over something inside his head before making a decision and speaking again. “Even still, no goodbyes.  I don’t want closure.  I think I’d like to get to know this version of you better, actually.   If that is something that you’re okay with.” 

It was like asking a dead man walking if he’d rather just go home.  Darren’s pretty sure there is no possible version of him that would be able to deny this man anything, much less an opportunity to learn him again, regardless of the hurt he could be opening himself up to in the end.  He’d always agree.  He’d always welcome any kind of relationship he could grasp when it came to Chris.   

“Yes.  I’m definitely okay with that.” 

Chris grins and gulps down the rest of his second cocktail, keeping a strong connection with Darren’s shining eyes.  “Okay then.” 

Might as well go for complete clarification. “So what does this mean exactly? We give this friendship thing another shot? Bi-coastal texting buddies? Because as entertaining as you are, Colfer, I don’t know that I have the time for a pen pal.” 

“Of course you don’t, _Sugar Daddy_.”  Chris grins.  He’s mocking him.   

Darren’s sudden laugh rings out through the otherwise quiet bar, causing men in bland-looking boardroom suits to turn and take notice of them for the first time. He doesn’t even want to guess what they must see. Two young lovers out for a date night, meeting after their dead end jobs for a final nightcap before heading home to a shoebox apartment in a sketchier borough? Pity they’d be so fucking far off the mark. 

Chris laughs at Darren’s amusement, his cheeks blushing a deeper pink from the drink and bringing out one of the smiles that make Darren squint so much so that his eyes completely disappear into his face.  “What?  I’m not looking for a pen pal either.  I’ll be, um, here for a few more days than originally planned.  We could reconnect… in person?” 

“It’ll be good having you back.  I mean this whole thing has been fucking incredible, but now- This is good.” He stops himself from saying _“Now I’m not missing anything, now I have everything I want”_ by only a fraction of a second, but the idea still thrums through his chest. Because it’s true, he hadn’t ever realized anything that been missing until it walked through his dressing room door two hours ago and found him again. 

The bill is dropped nonchalantly and Darren thrusts a credit card into the waitress’s hand before she has a chance to walk away again.   

“No regrets?” 

Darren’s face lights up, his lips purse and pucker, obnoxiously clears his throat.   

Chris laughs again, and leans his upper body away.  “Don’t.  Please, don’t!” 

The grin becomes downright evil. “Oh c’mon, Christopher. You know you wanna hear it.”  He leans closer as Chris begins to pull himself out of the booth. 

“Don’t make me reconsider this friendship idea already. I still have the right to rescind my offer, and if you try any of your usual dumbass antics, I will.” 

Darren tips generously and signs the receipt, returned to the table within seconds. “You have all my moves committed to memory, do you?” 

Chris snorts out loud as they begin to walk side by side towards to exit. “I’d say that some of them are rather hard to forget.” 

“I can’t help but be unforgettable.” 

“God, you are annoying.” 

“Where are you staying?” 

“Ashley’s, for now.” 

Darren looks around a bit and nods.  They fall into step together as they usually do, muscle memory overtaking rational thought, and Darren lets his hand tangle with Chris’ fingers for a split second before he pulls away and asks, “Which is?” 

“Which is in Brooklyn somewhere.  I’m going to take a cab.  I don’t do the Subway after dark.”  Chris preens; he’s being clever.   “I’ve heard there are goblins.” 

“All the goblins are from Jersey City, you wimp.  Walk me to the turnstile and I’ll say hello to the mole people on behalf of us both.” 

“Don’t you have a shiny black car to utilize? No flashy Tesla here?” 

“Authenticity of New York, my friend.  I am living the dream.” 

The thought of spending more time with Chris over the next couple of days makes him far more elated than he cares to admit, even to himself so he just scratches at his jaw and looks down the street for any one person that might recognize them together. He isn’t ready for the moment to be over. “If you ever decide that you want to meet those goblins for yourself and need a guide, just give me a call. It could be great inspiration for the next book.” 

Chris elbows him in the ribs. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Darren stops and steps away from the stairs down into the ground and shrugs.  “This is it.” 

“Ah, okay.  I guess I’ll be seeing you around then?” 

The whens and wheres go unspoken but feel vitally important.  Darren will not ask - that sounds too desperate and he can’t be that guy right now. 

Chris sticks his hand out into the street, daintily rehearsed solely for this moment.   

The taxi pulls up, right on cue, landing at an angle so that Chris only needs to open the door and climb in.  “Thanks for the drinks, Sugar Daddy.” 

Darren laughs again.  He’s not sure if he’s stopped laughing since his eyes met Chris’ at the start of the night.  “Anytime.”  He opens the car door for Chris and smiles, turning his body to gesture Chris inside.  Instead, he’s met with a vertical slam of a hug and a lingering kiss on the cheek.  And then he’s gone, headed south down Seventh Avenue like he had any right to come back and flip Darren’s life upside down again.   

_“On nights, like this… when the world’s a bit amiss...”_

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notes today because I don't know where Desi is (probably still working) and I miss her very much and I don't know what to say on my own. AHHHHH. Enjoy :)

_“... And the lights go down across the trailer park.  I get down, I feel had, feel on the verge of going mad.”_

The struts across the stage, the performance of it all, is something Darren couldn’t ever picture himself doing, although it has been a dream role since before the World Trade Center crashed and burned.   

_“I put on some makeup, turn on the tape deck, and pull the wig back on my head.”_

Chris has officially gone missing for the past four and a half days, sweeping in like a ghost and disappearing just as efficiently, and Darren’s not pleased.  He knows it must have _something_ to do with Ashley. She had never been his biggest fan after the whole tour debacle, after the onstage kiss, after the constant swap of hotel rooms all over the country, after all the hookups and private day trips alone.  Darren’s always thought the girl pined over her gay best friend and just needed to go get laid herself instead of acting like Chris’ damn girlfriend all the time, but he’s not getting paid for his opinion.  Only Darren’s concerned that this time, he won’t have enough time or influence to fight in order to keep Chris right next to him where he belongs. 

_“... I look up from my vermouth on the rocks…”_

The lyrics hit him hard.  He cracks, out of character, and gets stuck on a hiccup of the words.  Flashing his mind back to the London five nights ago, he thinks of Chris ordering a vermouth on the rocks only for Darren’s reaction.  Chris knows how to get Darren to tick, he knows how to get him to laugh.  And not just laugh politely for the sake of laughing.  Darren giggles and squints with all that his soul is made up of around Chris, a full-bellied laugh that’s simply uncontrollable.  He’s still totally into him, and that’s something he is finally ready to admit.  Even if only to himself.  Maybe.  Possibly. 

He recovers from the stumble as best he can post-revelation and finishes the act as if he isn’t completely preoccupied.  As has been the case all week, his attention is split between his performance and keeping one eye out on the audience for a glimpse of that familiar face, the form of his neck and shoulders that Darren is sure he could pick out of a crowd of thousands any day of the week. 

But Chris hasn’t shown his presence and he hasn’t gotten in touch.  So after curtain call, Darren tries to repress his inner thirteen-year-old girl who frantically checks her phone to see if a boy has called, but he is largely unsuccessful. All it takes is two drinks, a kiss on the cheek, and those fucking smiling eyes with their easy way of flirting and he is gone again, just as badly as he was during _Glee_. Only this time it isn’t a set of strictly enforced rules in place that keep him away from what he wants, it’s Chris choosing someone else over him. 

There’s also no guarantee he’d ever see Chris again.  They don’t work together anymore.  If Chris wanted to change his number and disappear from the face of the earth, technically, he could.   

Darren knows he lost a lot of people from _Glee_ when he decided to move to New York immediately following the wrap, and not for any other reason than one might lose a high school friend - he simply doesn’t see anyone every single day anymore.  That’s just life.  For the most part, he can shrug that off.  He can shrug all of them off.  Except one. 

Chris had never fit into the proper description of “ _friend_ ”.  It was always too cookie-cutter for the type of relationship they held.  The title seems like not enough, insufficient, lacking.  The thought of having him walk out of his life willingly and all over again isn’t something he’d ever want to face even once.  But somehow, it’s happening again and Darren exhales irritated.  He needs to figure out a survival plan.   

Generally speaking, Darren’s never been the biggest fan of mornings. It’s one of the reasons that he loves his new role of a stage actor so much: no call times before the sun comes up, no unexpected long shoots that get uncontrollably off-schedule. He could stay up late and sleep in as much as he pleases.  So the loud ringtone of his cell phone blaring in his ear at just after nine in the morning wasn’t the most welcome sound in the world.  That is, until his ears register the voice on the other end of the line.  Suddenly, he doesn’t mind so much. 

“You don’t call.  You don’t write.  You turn my world-” 

“Good morning, sunshine.  Where do you live?”

“Chris, what time is it?  Do you know me at all?” 

“What is your street address?  This is _vital_ , Dare..” 

Darren pauses.   “Why?”  He sings the word to exaggerate on the question mark. 

“Darren, tell me your goddamned address, for the love of all things holy or else I will personally call in a favor to Lucifer himself to commit one of the seven deadly damn sins on your ass!” 

“Oh!  Can _you_ sin on my ass instead?” 

“ _Darren_.” 

Darren laughs.  Fine.  “431 West 18th.  Apartment 22C.” 

He can hear Chris huff through the phone. 

“All the way down there? The Meatpacking District, Darren? Really? There has to be a terribly offensive gay joke in there somewhere.  I’ll refrain.” 

“Ha ha. Now why in the fuck did you need to know all of that at this terrible hour? And don’t tell me it was to insult my apartment, because I’ll have you know, I have the best apartment in all of New York.”  Darren’s voice is groggy, Maker’s Mark still ringing through his head like a ribbon of bells.   

“I guess I’ll see for myself in… oh, soon.” 

That catches his attention. Darren glances down at himself and realizes he went to sleep in what was worn yesterday after the late show, and he clearly did not think to shower before he passed out.  His hair is a fucking wreck and he needs a shave, but all in all, Chris has probably seen him worse. “You’re coming here? Now?” 

“No, next Friday afternoon just in time for High Tea. Get out of bed, lazy. I’ll come in peace with coffee.” 

Darren scrunches his nose in distaste. He may be a full-fledged adult, but he’d never acquired the taste for the bitter, hot drink he could never flavor right enough to deem its worth. “I don’t really do coffee much. Neither do you, if I remember correctly.”  When it comes to Chris, Darren could almost guarantee that his memory serves him right about 99.9% of the time. 

“I do when I have to try to drag your sorry ass out into the land of the living before 10 AM.  I’m getting into a cab now. See you soon.” 

The line goes dead and Darren stares at his phone.  “What the fuck?”  He says it to himself before launching into an abbreviated version of a very cold and not so effective shower.  He scrubs at his scalp and face and body, ready and available to welcome Chris to his east coast home in eleven minutes flat.  As he’s pulling up his sweatpants and tying them at the waistline, the doorman’s phone startles him into a shake of both not-yet-awake and nerves.   _Chris_ , of all people, will be in his apartment within seconds.  He didn’t even _try_ to clean up. 

He allows the doorman to show Chris to the elevator and before he could effectively throw the messy pile of sheet music and scribbled lyrics under the couch, three soft knocks vibrating right through the door catches him off guard.   

He throws the papers down onto the couch and sprints into the foyer, opening the door.  He swings it ajar with all his might… like he can finally give himself to the person he wants to share this whole experience with.  He wishes he kept up with play-by-plays, forcing them down Chris’ throat since the beginning whether he _liked it or not._

“Rise and shine, DC.  Daytime is dying to see your face.”  Chris pushes through, swinging his hips a little too emphatically to be real, as if he’s conscious of it, balancing coffee all the while and delivering it to the kitchen counter.  Darren can’t help but stare at Chris’ body as he moves.  He knows that’s exactly what Chris wants.   

_Why_ he wants Darren’s attention suddenly, is the question. 

Regardless, Darren will give it all to him, happily and completely.  Darren closes and locks the door, following Chris anywhere even if it’s just the kitchen.  “What are you doing here?” 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” 

“Okay.  Why did you feel the need to wake me up on a Sunday morning after a very, very late show and even later after party?  Of which I texted you the details and you never showed.”  Darren yawns for dramatics and also because he really needs to.  “I’m probably still a little bit drunk, actually.  I hope you brought me Advil and water.” His eyes are too alert to the expression on Chris’ face to pull off any semblance of nonchalance. 

“Charming as ever this morning.”  Chris’ eyes flash around the apartment and within seconds, he’s found his way to the bathroom and back again with two Advil and a tiny Dixie cup full of water. 

“Ugh.  My theoretical savior.”  Darren downs the medicine and the water, crushes the cup, and tosses it away… allowing it to land wherever it’s destined. 

“You are beyond even my water walking skills, I’m afraid.” Chris eyes him with a look a troubled concern only slightly masked by cool agitation. “You’re getting really old for this kind of lifestyle, you know.” 

Their games of verbal tennis, always batting the quips back and forth, becomes a second nature to him and he opens to his mouth serve back before he thinks the comment through. “Well you know what they say, Colfer. Live fast, die young, and leave a pretty-” 

Chris’ eyes widen and the sarcastic reply dies off into the room. They can’t make casual jokes like that anymore. Not when that kind of attitude has cost them both someone they cared deeply about. 

Darren’s eyes shine.  “Um, I- you know I’m not-”  He swallows and tries to smile at Chris, but he’s already distracted himself with cleaning up Darren’s living room that it goes completely over his head.  Chris scoops up haphazard stacks of magazines and stray pieces of sheet music and Darren’s lyric notebooks and starts shuffling them into orderly piles on the coffee table. 

“You know that you don’t have to do-” The glare from those steely blue-gray eyes would have been enough to stop a far bigger man than Darren in his tracks. “Okay.” He sits down in the corner of the couch and watches Chris move around his space with a confidence most people could never pull off, let alone at nine in the morning. Chris doesn’t ask where anything goes, he simply places it in the spot that he just knows it should be, and Darren can’t really find any reason to argue with the logic. 

“Why don’t you just have someone come in and clean when you’re not around or something?” 

“I’m a big boy, Chris. I can pick up after myself… I just choose not to. I know for a fact that _you_ don’t have a cleaning service.” 

“I’m not the one who needs one. God, imagine if you had pets?  You’d be living in absolute filth.” 

“Awww… how are the furballs? Who’s taking care of them while you’re here, anyway?” 

“You know exactly who.” 

Darren holds up both hands in the universal sign of surrender. 

“When you’re not criticizing me and the way I keep my apartment, have you spoken to anyone lately? Anyone else?” Neither of them needs any clarification of the fact that Darren is referring to their former cast mates and so-called close friends. 

Chris is otherwise occupied with looking over a shirt draped over the back of a chair to determine if it was even clean or not. “Not really.” 

“Well, huh. So much for platonic soul mates then.” 

“Right.” 

Darren sits back and goes on admiring the view as Chris bends over to retrieve a stray shoe out from beneath Darren’s end table. “So, it’s… early.  Why are you here?” 

Chris straightens up with one of Darren’s Italian loafers held in his hand, his posture has gone from focused to suddenly awkward in a split second. “Didn’t I say that I wanted to get to know you again?  That we should spend some time together while I’m in New York?” 

“You did. You totally did.” Darren sits up, hurrying over his words. “It’s just, I didn’t hear from you after that first night, and fuck you, Chris, because I _tried_.  I thought maybe you left or you’d changed your mind.  Or you have influence still directing you toward the fact that I’m so not good for you at all.  I thought Ashley might have-”  Darren sighs.   

Chris sits the lone shoe down neatly against the wall beside the door. “Still here.” 

“I can see that.” Darren watches him glide across the room as Chris grabs the cups of coffee he’d brought and hands one to him, before sitting down on the edge of the couch. 

“This is just new, you know? Us hanging out as friends. We’ve spent all this time together over the years, but never quite like this.” 

Darren’s forehead crinkles when he frowns, the lines forming beside his eyes that Chris would never admit he’d always found cute as hell.  “We were friends before all of that.” 

“Not for very long.” Chris makes an indelicate snorting laughing sound. “And look how fast that got… messy.” 

Darren tilts his head to the side and thinks back, memories flipping through his mind like the pages of a photo album.  “Maybe you have a point, not sure if we were ever friends.  There’s something to say for history, even if that’s all it is.” 

“Maybe.”  Chris sighs and sits across from Darren, the corner of the couch sinking only slightly when the weight of Chris falls onto it.  “That could be why I’m here, to answer your continuously annoying question.  Maybe I don’t want it to just be history.”  Chris finds what must be his favorite spot on his shoe.  He’s clearly focusing on his breathing and Darren’s heart lurches.  His arms spasm to hold him, his mouth twitches to whisper that it will all be fine.  That although he didn’t have to run to Darren at the first sign of unfamiliarity in any other part of his life, he’s glad he did.  He wants him here; he needs him here.  He’s been missing his muse and if Chris can stick around and be his inspiration for only a few more weeks, then maybe… maybe this friendship thing might actually stand a chance.  They do have history, but they can have fond memories and things to look forward to, as well.  It doesn’t all have to be in the past just because the way they met is over.   

Whatever it is that Chris needs from him, whatever he’s asked, Darren is wholeheartedly in. Truth be told, it’s always been that way. He plays it by ear and allows Chris to set the tempo of whatever they will be now. 

It’s an unconscious reaction when he leans forward in his chair, lessening the physical space between them. “So, now what?” 

Chris seems to recover his smile. “How do you feel about jogging?” 

Darren blinks twice. “Err… as an abstract concept? I’m fine with other people doing it. I mean, it beats open rioting and looting in the streets.” 

“As what we will be doing this morning.  I thought we’d get some exercise.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“This is not my joking face.” It sure isn’t. 

When all else fails, whine.  “Chriiiis...” 

“Come on, get up.” Chris springs off the couch and grabs Darren’s forearm to help pull him to his feet. “You’re already half dressed for it. Just go grab some sneakers, and we’ll get going.” 

Darren exaggeratedly drags his feet across the floor as he sulks off into the direction of his bedroom. “Maybe being friends with you wasn’t such an awesome idea.” 

“Oh, stop complaining. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t been working out. I know, I’ve seen you in the tights.” 

“Oh my God, Chris.  Remember Season 5 when everyone we knew made fun of me for the Roar jiggle?  I thought of them every day on the fucking treadmill.” 

Darren counts it as a win when he hears Chris’ quiet squeak of a laugh behind him. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

“Says the guy who took off his shirt and broke the fucking Internet.” 

Chris only rolls his eyes and waits for Darren to finish pulling on an old broken-in pair of converse. “You looked perfectly fine then and you’re fine now. Surely, you’ve heard the way the crowd screams when you strut out on stage for the opening number. And every other number. I’m surprised no one has had to call the EMTs yet.” 

Darren looks up from tying his laces with a smirk and an eyebrow wiggle that he knows Chris could never help cracking up at. “Who says they haven’t?” 

This time the silliness at least earns him an affectionate grin and a shove. “Are you ready to go yet?” 

“With you?”   _Anywhere_. “Yeah, Colfer. Let’s go.” 

Walking down the streets of New York in the thick of springtime is warm air and a light breeze with a distant fragrance of lilac from the plethora of parks nearby.  It is keeping up with the pace but stopping abruptly to take in the detail.  It’s getting too warm with his windbreaker on, and then getting annoyed by the sleeves tied around his waist and beating at his thighs with every stride.  It’s separating to step around the elderly busybodies, excusing themselves, then falling right back on track to continue their journey toward their exercise.  Chris is the only person in the entire world that shines brighter than New York City; Darren’s hyper-aware of all of this. 

The Highline has a mind of it’s own especially this time of year, each flower and leaf peeping beautifully out of the concrete.  It is a photographer’s paradise, and the perfect backdrop to contrast against Chris’ vibrant skin.  Darren gets a chill, trying to determine how intoxicating Chris’ natural musk must be now that he’s grown into a man. 

Jogging through the urban boscage that used to be an above ground subway or whatever type of transportation he doesn’t remember details of from the free tour, Darren can’t help but notice that Chris is the happiest he’s ever been, jogging effortlessly beside him.  Chris’ sunglasses, blocking an undoubtedly clear ocean blue that puts the May sky over their heads to shame, stay secure on his head with each graceful stride.  His face, flushed red in an abstract splotch spreading shamelessly across his cheeks. He seems unguarded and casually careless in the “who is going to see us together” department.  It’s fresh and new, and Darren’s heart flutters.  This wasn’t the Chris of Los Angeles, who came to set, did his job, and retreated back to his trailer and his laptop as soon as someone yelled the word “cut.” This is someone who is thriving not in spite of, but because of where he is and who he’s with. 

It’s a funny thing, these feelings.  To see someone he cares for so deeply so undeniably happy in his presence, _because_ of his presence.  It’s brilliant.  It makes Darren’s eyes flood with unshed tears that he wipes away as if they’re sweat on his forehead.  He keeps running, pretending the end of the pathway is the light at the end of their dark, dreary past and they’re just shy of the support needed to figure everything out together.  Darren just needs Chris’ blessing and confirmation. He needs to hear the words once and for all. 

Maneuvering around the bicycles and fellow joggers, they continue on deliciously undiscovered, inconspicuous, invisible and most importantly, with one another.  Each roll of the ankle and push off the ground is in sync.  It’s jarring how quickly they fall back into it. 

New York is lovely; it’s always been Darren’s favorite city.  It’s competing with itself, now, with his other favorite thing joining him.  It’s off the charts, unbelievably marvelous and every other adjective that Darren could possibly pull out of his ass. 

He feels his heart bursting, the beat’s rhythm flaring up to enrage his insides.  It feels like the poor organ is about to explode from either excessive exercise or everything that is simply _Chris_ and he’s suddenly out of breath, winded and tired.  It’s all too overwhelming; he needs to sit down. 

So he does, right there on the side of the path in the grass.  He lies back and stares, waiting for Chris to block his view of the sky.  Right on cue. 

“As... unexpectedly enjoyable… as this is-” Darren is cut off mid-sentence by Chris accidentally toppling over his body, seriously misjudging the ground in which was available.   

Darren oofs, and Chris continues interrupting him as if his tackle could possibly go completely ignored.  “A lot about this week has been unexpected.”  He pushes himself off Darren and sits right next to him, looking down into the general area where Darren’s head is.   It’s the most ungraceful thing Chris Colfer has ever done, and Darren’s so glad he’s there to witness it.  It keeps him grounded, knowing that even Chris has to try sometimes.   

There’s a dark, almost biting undertone to Chris’ voice that Darren can’t read, so he tries to search his face for some kind of answer.  As per usual, Chris’ expression gives away nothing, especially with those stupid Ray Bans covering half of his face.  Darren assumes his stare is fixed on some unspecified mark beyond Darren’s point of focus and he seems unwilling to meet Darren’s eyes if he could.  Then again, he could be shamelessly checking Darren out too.  Darren will never know. 

Darren shrugs off the odd moment, and carries on with a nod. “As I was trying to say before your rude ass interruption, some of us still have to go to work today.”  Darren pauses for emotional affect.  Maybe guilting Chris into it would work like it never has before.  “To be painfully clear, you have a free ticket whenever you decide it’s necessary.  If you think you could stomach it a second time around, I mean.” 

This brings Chris’ attention back. He moves in slow motion, shaking off his glasses and glancing back over to where Darren lies half-dead in the grass. Those stormy eyes grow wide for only a split second and, once again, it goes unreadable in Darren’s mind.  He watches as Chris’ mouth opens around some word that seems to falter on his lips then gets sewn shut. 

If Darren knew nothing about Chris, it would have just been a nervous tic.  There’s so much more to the past four seconds, though. 

Darren’s hope sinks when Chris doesn’t speak.  All week, he’s been searching the faces of the audience to see Chris there again - to _know_ he was there - but it wasn’t happening.  And now it seemed like it wouldn’t ever happen.  Just as well, he supposes.  One day, Darren promises to learn that optimism is just destiny and failing happens nine times out of ten. 

“...or not.  Don’t tell me you’ve turned into a ‘one and done’ guy, Christopher.  What will you do with that reputation?”  He tries to play it off, as if it doesn’t bother him.  He can only assume that Chris knows his own “nervous tics.”  If Chris catches onto it at all, it goes unmentioned. 

The innuendo slips out without a second thought and it causes Chris’ lips to quirk up into a dimpled smirk. The sight of it shoots a bolt of heat into the pit of Darren’s stomach.  He ignores it the best he can. 

While Darren is busy kicking the ass of his own subconscious, Chris unfolds his sinfully long legs and stands, hands reaching back to brush off the back of his (seemingly brand new) running pants. He looks down at where Darren still sits on the ground with one corner of his mouth still smiling. 

“You’re lucky my meeting got cancelled today.  Hedwig’s music and stage production quality?  A+.  The talent?  I still don’t know what they were thinking.”  Chris’ voice is teasing, obviously mocking Darren and all his self-worth.   

“You and me both.” Darren chuckles under his breath as he raises to his feet with a groan. “Too old for this shit.” 

“Nah.  You’re just too lazy. Lay off the whiskey and cheeseburgers, and you'll be fine.” 

“Fuck off, Colfer.  I dare you to grind up against screaming middle-aged _Klagen_ fans every day and every night except fucking Monday, and then be forced to go for a run with your spring chicken friend from your sordid past.” 

“I’ll use my free ticket tonight, just you won’t see me before, during, or after.” 

“Just knowing you’re-” Darren lets _that_ die in his throat.  “Stop making me talk, I need to save my voice.” 

Chris laughs, the sound floating above the city noise and lingering in the humid air. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to damage your performance abilities. I guess I’ll be seeing you around three.” Something about saying that out loud seems to make Chris puzzle over something in his mind, as he tilts his head to the side and regards Darren thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, sort of seeing you, I guess. You really do a transformation on stage. You know that?” 

Darren swallows and tries not to read too much into the way Chris’ eyes just traveled up and down the length of his body seemingly on their own accord. “I do my best. You’ll probably pick up a lot more seeing it for the second time. I change things up a bit from show to show.” 

“I guess I’ll find out.  Help me find a cab.” 

“Ah, you don’t do the subway in broad daylight, either.  Princess.” 

Chris replies by way of a raised middle finger in Darren’s face. 

“No wonder all those guys shut you out.” 

“That was my decision, for your information.  Bye, Sugar Daddy.” 

Darren raises on his tippy toes, calling out after Chris as he starts to walk away. “You’re wearing out the joke! Just so you know!” 

The only response is a little wave over his retreating shoulder. 

Darren whips out his phone to be sure he gets in the last word. **“Can’t believe you’re making me walk home alone.  Can’t believe you don’t wanna take me in my shower.  It’s a beautiful shower.  Can’t believe you’re gonna stink up that poor cab.”**

There.  That’ll shut Chris up.   

He slips his cell phone back into the pocket of his sweats and has only taken three steps before is buzzes again. 

**“Save your theatrics for the stage.”**

Dammit. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, lovies!

**Chapter 4**

Chris doesn’t realize he does it, but he walks aimlessly downtown for nearly an hour.  Once he figures out where he is, he makes a left, left, right and then he’s standing in Battery Park, allowing memories of the past flood his brain.  He smiles to himself, brushes a single tear off his cheek. 

Darren is the single one constant that’s made Chris’ last five years so much better than what they could have been.  He’s the one who’d kept him grounded in the midst of his panic attacks as thousands of fans gathered for just a glimpse on set and on location.  Darren’s the one who, rumors be damned, rode in the same van to the location uptown, determined to bring Chris’ breathing back to normal.  Chris would probably be in a straight jacket by now, locked away somewhere in northern California, without Darren.   

Is that enough to fly across the country with nothing but a phone call to his best friend to let her know that he’d be crashing for an undetermined amount of time?  Probably not. 

Because as much as Chris had counted on Darren back then, he knows he took him for granted just as much. There was a time when a much younger, more ignorantly idealist incarnation of himself thought there could possibly be something between the two of them that outshined and surpassed their on-screen alter egos. 

Yes, that Chris had been a complete idiot at that time. Darren lived a life of projected images and half-truths and Chris chanted that he was so much better off without the drama. The man’s life was tangled and messy, while Chris thrives in order and control. 

But. 

Maybe it’s okay to be a little messy; maybe the Chris he is now thrives to be someone’s yin to their yang, someone’s _thing_ they never knew they were missing.   Which is what he finally came to terms with, somewhere over the Midwest on his way east to go to Darren. 

It happens subconsciously, the pull to Darren’s presence.  He hardly realizes he’s on his way to New York until the pilot announces their final descent.  He wasn’t totally sure.  He’s still not entirely certain what he’s doing but he knows that he needs to find something to fill the void that has been aching in the middle of the otherwise comfortable life he has been living back in LA.  Some honest piece of him has probably always known what shape that absence takes.   

His phone buzzes.  Again.  He hasn’t talked to the boy back home in nearly a week.  It’s not that he doesn’t like him, per se, it’s just that he likes him in the way that he tends to like most things. Somewhat removed, from a careful distance, safely.  He is sweet, soft-spoken, and the sex has been to his standards, but… 

Just but. 

He knows there is a conversation that needs to be had there, with the boy, but he can’t really be blamed for being a bit distracted when he is somewhat afraid that he may be falling in love with a new version of a completely different someone else he used to know because he had to.   

He swipes out of that message and into the thread with Alla and her assistant.  He cancels their creative meeting this afternoon at three. He foresees rapid cussing in Russian in his near future, but can’t care about it right now. 

_Pizdets_ , indeed. 

He simply doesn’t have the time or energy required to plan details of his next project when Darren is air-humping complete strangers in six-inch heels and fishnets down on Broadway. 

He switches his phone to airplane mode and hails a cab to head back to Ashley’s.  So far, he’s done a decent job of dodging her bullet, demanding answers as to where he’s been and what he’s been doing these past few days… as if she doesn’t already assume, waiting for him to admit it so she could light a fire under his ass.  Time management has always been Chris’ forte and apparently avoiding the best friend with loaded questions is too.  He changes and fixes himself up in record time, turning around and into a new cab no more than twenty minutes later, en route uptown.  Not bad. 

He hasn’t given much thought to his comings and goings from the theater besides the minute “try not to be seen” tactic. He waits at the Starbucks on the far corner until he knows the crowd will have settled in their seats, and then makes his way to sneak in at exactly two fifty-five.  He sinks into his seat while the light is still up but this time, he’s caught. 

The damn girl he’s sitting in front of shrieks his name.  He’s exposed.   

She starts to babble about taking a photo with him and is he there to see Darren, which _duh_ , and he cuts her off as politely as he could possibly in this moment.   

“Honey, the show is about to start.  I’ll take a picture with you in approximately an hour and a half, okay?” 

She is a dribbling, nodding, flushing, cursing hot mess and Chris sighs and turns back around.  He knew this had been a risk.  Everything concerning Darren is a risk, but it hadn’t been enough of a deterrent to keep him away. 

The unnerving interaction is forgotten about entirely when the lights dim and the show starts, Darren completely in his zone more than Chris had ever seen him before.  He killed the previous performances Chris has seen; there’s no doubt about that.  But today, Darren’s voice is a little bit stronger.  He’s meeting the marks a little bit sharper and he’s in it to win it more than ever before. On stage, Darren is more vibrant and alive than Chris had ever witnessed. He is a force of nature that captures every ounce of attention from every solitary body in the room.   

The “Sugar Daddy” routine has more sass in it, more oomph.  It’s like Darren knows Chris is there and he’s showing off.  For him?  Chris tries to swallow down that sort of foolish hope and anonymously at that considering he can feel several eyes on him now that they all know he’s here.  He feels like he can’t react in the way he wants because it’ll all be misconstrued across social media before the performance is over.   

What is Darren doing? Chris has now sat in the audience four times, previously going unnoticed by Hedwig herself, and he can tell that Darren is hamming it up even more so than usual.  His eyes are connecting with the people in the first few rows instead of darting around the darkened theater. This isn’t a performance; it’s a seduction. 

Is he doing this on purpose? The extra emphasized swing of his hips as he walks across his stage (he owns it) and the extra-raspy growl in his voice. And those goddamn _shorts_ … 

They’ve been flirty, sure, but that’s just the way Darren is, isn’t it? He lives to be adored by anyone who will pay attention and Chris has never been excluded from that. Even when they both know he should have been. 

But this… he can’t react, but he also _cannot_ help but be affected, so he crosses his legs tightly and exhales.  The character is sex and liberation personified; Chris needs to focus on his breathing. 

This isn’t his Darren in a wig and costume up there flaunting his body. It’s some kind of mythical creature from a rock ‘n roll kingdom that sings of their pain and oppression and need for freedom, her desire for control in her life.  Chris finds himself wanting to rise up to feet and offer himself up to Hedwig once and for all.  It’s dizzying and too loud and one of the most beautiful fucking things he has ever seen. 

He becomes obsessed with the show during this very performance, more than he thought he was.  The show is so modestly critical to the whole of the community, he’s always felt like he was a part of it somehow.  By casting Darren, they truly cast a _child of the moon_ , a chaotic, sewn up individual unashamed to love whatever or whomever he damn well pleases.   

Darren is strong, Darren is defiant.  Chris just wants it all to feel finally _justifiable_.   

As Chris witnesses the authentic anguish and yearning etched into the lines of Berlin’s face, he remembers the night in an air-conditioned, generic hotel room overseas when, despite contracts signed and rules set in place, their story began.  It was Darren who he chose to experience something uncharted and exciting and terrifying with.  It was because of Darren that later, he would tell himself it didn’t matter, that those short fever-filled nights leading to awkward times on set made no difference in either of their worlds.   

But they mattered. And Chris does remember. 

And even if he is resistant to the idea, his heart knows that he had lost a piece of himself forever to that man up there on the stage with the wide, earnest eyes in the glitter and corset. 

It was a breathless concept, and Chris feels like he was right back where he started. 

The _Midnight Radio_ plays its last, the lights go up and before he can decompress, the girls swarm to him and he has no choice but to interact.  He’s as polite as he can be, knowing that Darren’s fans are his fans and vice versa, but he doesn’t dare answer any specific questions about him and Darren phrased together.  He doesn’t even know, even if he wanted to tell them the truth.   

He feels his phone vibrating in his pocket but doesn’t tend to it.  It can only be one person and he can’t show them whatever the truth is.  Not yet.  The rush and the press of bodies in front of him brings on a familiar sense of claustrophobia, and he knows he has to get out of there. His smile is trembling and his words are clipped and short as he signs a few Playbills that are shoved into his hands.  At the first chance, he dashes out and tries to lose himself in the crowd.  When he’s successfully around the corner, he hides in plain sight at the very top of the red stairs in Times Square and calls Darren back.   

“Chris?  Where’d you go?” 

“They found me.  I was ambushed.” 

“Shit. Are you okay?”  The sincerity in Darren’s voice embraces Chris like he’s right there to comfort him; it pings at his heart and makes him feel like he can’t breathe even more.  “Chris, come on.  Talk to me, where are you?” 

“Times Square.  Literally.  The middle of it.” 

“Not an awesome place for an anxiety attack.  Hold on babe, I’ll be right there. Keep breathing okay?  Remember you’ve got this.  It’s always gets better.  Gimme three minutes.” 

Chris fumbles his phone as he hangs up, focusing on counting his breaths.  In through his nose, hold for ten seconds, out through the mouth.  And it actually doesn’t feel like so long before he’s being pulled in close and tucked up underneath Darren’s arm and herded into a waiting cab. His breathing levels out from the point of hyperventilation as he breathes in familiar aftershave and sweat.  They don’t speak.  They don’t need to.  They’ve been here before. 

Darren leads him in through the front door of his apartment building, and up into the elevator, depositing him on the couch.  Darren runs away and returns just as quickly, shoving a bottle of expensive spring water in his face. 

Chris has forced his breathing back into a normal rhythm by this point. Now that he can see without black blurs dancing in his line of vision, he takes in Darren’s anxious stature standing over him. Streaks of stage makeup still line his cheeks and the area beneath his lower lip, his hair flattened and frizzy from the sweat that he worked up on stage beneath the wigs. He looks wild and wrecked.  He looks gorgeous. 

“Hi again.  You okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So I’m guessing that asking you to see a second show was a shitty idea.  Chris, I’m so fucking sorry.  I just thought-” 

“Fourth.” 

“What?” 

“Fourth.  One, two, three… fourth.” 

Darren’s utterly confused.  If Chris were feeling more stable, he’d even smile at how cute it is.   

“I snuck in a few other times before today.  I can’t get enough of you.”  Chris swallows.  “As Hedwig.” 

“As Hedwig.” 

“ _As Hedwig_.” 

Darren nods slowly like he is trying to process the words, and Chris watches as he sinks down beside him on the couch like his knees are suddenly incapable of supporting his body weight. 

“As Hedwig?” 

“Will you stop?!” 

“Okay.”  Darren whispers.  Chris knows he’s taken him off guard.  “I totally ignored all those girls tonight for you.  I bet I’m the devil of Tumblr right now.” 

“Mmm, never.”  Chris stands.  “You’re a god on there.  Thanks for rescuing me.”  He stands, taking a total of five steps toward the door before he’s turned around at the wrist. 

“You’re not going fucking anywhere, Colfer.”  Darren’s lips sink over Chris’ and it’s all Chris can do to refrain his laughter in the midst of just how damn dramatic and familiar and _Darren_ it all feels.  He pulls away, not because he doesn’t want it, but because he can’t get his mind to form a coherent thought with Darren’s lips attached to his. 

His heart is racing and the room feels suffocatingly warm as he flicks his eyes back and forth between each one of Darren’s trying to get a read on what in the actual name of fuck he’s thinking. Darren licks his lips and seems to struggle for words that only form soundlessly.  When he gives up, Chris tries his hand at speaking and what comes out of his own mouth isn’t what Chris is expecting himself to say at all. 

“You got lipstick all over my face.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You also kissed me.  Which is how you got lipstick on me.” 

Darren nods, still standing less than four inches away with his pupils blown wide and dark. “Affirmative.” 

It might not be the most appropriate reaction, but Chris can’t help but laugh, breathy and thin. “Any particular reason why?” 

Darren does what Darren does best, looks unabashedly sure of himself and smiles back at him. Disarming Chris with the simple truth.  “Mmmmm.  Because I wanted to.” Darren steps away then and walks off in the direction of his kitchen. “And I also want dinner. How do you feel about Thai food tonight?” 

Chris stands stiffly, frozen in the hall and watches as Darren begins rifling through a small stack of takeout menus that litter his smallest kitchen drawer. “Sure. Yeah, that’s… fine.” He stares at Darren’s back muscles and forces himself not to think. 

Darren sighs and aggressively tosses all the takeout menus in the garbage.  “Let’s go.” 

“Wha-what?  Dare, I-” 

“Come have dinner with me, Christopher.” 

“You know we can’t just-” 

“Actually, we fucking can.  And we will.  Let’s go.”  Darren tugs at Chris’ hand and they go.  Chris doesn’t have a choice.   

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short, sorry guys. I promise it's worth it.

Darren looks at Chris through hooded eyelids as he slurps a thick, spicy rice noodle into his mouth.   

“Darren, please.  Do I need to call Cerina?” 

“Sorry.  It’s _so_ good.” 

Chris sighs and pops another piece of chicken in his mouth.  He’s not sure if this can be considered their first date, or their billionth, or if it’s a date at all.  He’s trying not to regret allowing other people control their relationship over the years, but as he stares at the candle lit between them on the quaint corner table, he can’t help but think what it all could have been by now.  If they had truly been free to give _them_ a shot way back when, would they even be the same people they are now?  Would he? 

It’s a pointless line of questioning, but he can’t deny that he has more than once tried to picture it over the years. Countless nights like this with Darren smiling at him from across the table complete with the smear of peanut sauce clinging to the side of his upper lip. Chris sighs again and pokes at his food with his chopsticks. 

“I can’t help but feel like we’re doing something wrong even being here like this.” 

“You’re thinking too much.” 

Chris considers that. 

“Maybe. But it doesn’t seem weird to you? I mean after all this time…” 

“Chris, none of this has ever been weird to me, I just… it wasn’t something I could negotiate back then.  You’re the one who’s been trying to protect me from the… travesty it would be if I were to tell people how deliciously gay I am.” 

It’s the first time Darren says it out loud.  Chris sputters and nearly chokes on his food.  “Dare, for the love of all things holy.  Please shut the fuck up.” 

He takes a long drink of his ice water and then glares at where Darren sits across the table with his arms folded over his chest and a pleased smirk on his face. 

“Number one, I hate you. Number two, you’re not gay. You are… whatever weird hippie, no labels ideology that you want to call yourself this week. ” 

“You of all people, are going to tell me what I am, Colfer?” 

Chris feels his cheeks flush. “Sorry.  No, I-” 

“And in the end, it would be the exact same thing if the big bad world knew, wouldn’t it? I mean a spade’s a spade.  And a dick, Christopher, is still a dick.” 

“Okay.  You know how… relaxed you are about all of this?  That’s not the fucking reality, Dare.  Before you sit here and tell me that everything will be okay, I need you to really think about what we’re talking about here.  The reality is that people out there, in a place that’s not New York or Southern California, get killed for attempting to do exactly what we’re doing right now.  You have to stay guarded, you can’t flaunt it.  It’d be like asking for a death wish if you do. The fact that you’re acting so cavalier about this proves that you are nowhere near ready to face things in the real world.” 

“Chris.  I’m in Hedwig.  Before that was Glee.  What the hell do you think I’m doing here, man?  You think that was a coincidence, that I play all these gay characters?  This whole thing is in motion, the _no homo_ ship has sailed, and there’s no going back now. I’m making a conscientious decision here.” 

Chris snatches his cloth napkin off of the table and starts folding it into a perfectly even square.  He’s hiding what could very well be the smile that tears his face in half.   

Darren has a point, though, but _Darren_ never lived through and experienced the darkest sides of human nature like he had before escaping to LA to be in a TV pilot.  Darren had grown up as everyone’s poster child of perfection, doted on by his family, his friends, his school. He just wasn’t aware of what it was really like when people just _know_.  Darren is able to hide it when he needs to. 

“Just be smart. You’re the type of guy to flaunt what you can just to piss some asshole off.  You’re going to piss the wrong one off one day, Dare.  I can’t ha-” Chris’ voice cracks.  “I don’t want anything terrible to happen to you because you grew up in this spoiled, sheltered life and you don’t understand the repercussions of being yourself.” 

“And if I said that I wanted to be your boyfriend?  Would you call me a spoiled brat and brush me off then because I’m too comfortable in my own skin?  Are you jealous that I don’t give a fuck, and maybe your overthinking tendencies seemed to get you in trouble a lot?” 

Chris feels his heart go still in his chest. It takes him until the count of five to remember how to breathe. “Now you are just talking bullshit again.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes. You are trying to get a rise out of me and it’s not going to work. Look, if and when you decide to come out, I just hope you’ll be a little more cautious. Not all of us have had things as easy as you have.” 

Darren slams his fork down on the table.  “I get it, Chris.  You were bullied.  I’m sorry your parents decided to let you grow up in a shitty place and did nothing for you when you were going through a rough time.  It’s funny, how much a few hours drive makes such a difference.”

Chris nods.  Darren nods back, mimicking him.  He continues.

“Maybe my family is more open and accepting or whatever, but you seem to have gone on just fine with your fucking boyfriend, right?  He’s gorgeous and I’m fucking jealous, okay? Because for the first time in my life, I’m in a position to try and make shit work with you. For a second, I thought that maybe we could be more than a could-have-been, or a once upon a time, or a temporary fuck. But clearly we’re on totally different pages, as per usual.” 

“What the hell do you think I’m doing right now?  Even if we wanted to try-” 

“I’ll never be good enough for his royal highness.” 

“Dare.” 

“I’m still as completely fucked up over you as I ever was, okay?  I don’t even fucking know why anymore. Some second first date this shit turned out to be.”  Darren drags his chair across the floor underneath him, the screeching sound of it like broken glass across Chris’ chest, before he gives him one last look, throws his napkin over his dish, and disappears out of the restaurant.   


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Public service announcement: Desi is not... I repeat... Desi is not Darren Criss. That was just a terrible, asshole prank Meg and I played on her this morning when she was conveniently gone during the same time as Darren was working, and as mean/shitty/terrible as it was, I'm not sorry. Sappy note of gratitude to each and every one of you tomorrow for the last chapter. Don't worry... after I post this, we're burying ourselves in the Google Doc and writing some more of the next part. You're welcome.

**Chapter 6**

Darren hasn’t been on the Internet much since he started the show.  Not all of the critics are kind, and he didn’t want that shit to affect his performance on stage. So it’s not surprising that he doesn’t get the memo when things begin creeping up on social media. 

It’s a tweet from a fan who spotted Chris at the first show. Then: a grainy, dark Instagram photo of the two of them leaving the hotel bar a few days ago.  Their backsides running away from a camera on the Highline.  They’ve been caught. 

Darren’s team knows that he isn’t checking things as closely as he used to, but then again, he isn’t checking in with them as much either so what do they know? It was part of his demands about moving here and doing this show; he needed a little room to breathe. So it probably shocks no one that he is ignoring their calls about his sudden… associations with a certain familiar face. 

When the photos of Chris posing with and signing for a few fans at the Belasco surface, proving that he has been spotted there for the second time in a week, the Tumblrverse goes out of control, as does Darren. 

They’re definitely not being careful anymore.  Because they don’t have to be.  That’s what Tumblr says.  They don’t know the start of it.   

It’s a little too late to turn back now.  Also, Darren doesn’t want to.  Even after the way they’d left things the night before, he wants this.  He wants it as badly as he’s ever wanted anything.  He needs it.  He has New York, he has the role of a lifetime, and he has Chris teasingly there, just out of reach like something from his wildest dreams.  It’s all too close to being _everything_ and too far from nothing not to give it every fucking ounce of his care. 

And so when Chris texts him the next day, his day off, and asks if they can continue their painful but necessary conversation, he doesn’t think twice. He invites him over immediately. 

It would probably be a better idea to ask Chris to meet him at some neutral place nearby, but Darren is a big fan of uncensored honesty, so he sticks with the plan to meet in private.  He’d laid his heart out bare the night before and Chris… well, he has no fucking clue what Chris is preparing to say.  He hadn’t _exactly_ given him much of a chance the first time around, but that’s why they’re trying again.  He opts to push down all the uncertainty and the agitation and the want so strong that he can feel it in his goddamn fingernails, and let Chris say what he needs to. 

If necessary, he’ll figure out his fight back to the land of sanity after he has some clue of Chris’ angle.  What else could he do? 

The knock on the door scares the living shit out of him.  He shuffles to the door, a pit in his stomach the size of California, and opens the door without even realizing the doorman hadn’t warned him.   

“Hey.” 

Chris has flowers.  Slightly wilted, hardened and browned at the edges like Chris threw them in a wok before he got here.  Red and mauve roses mixed delicately with… an array of other out of place flowers that don’t match even if Darren squints.  Chris extends them between his hands and looks down into them as if he’s totally regretting the decision to try this.  It’s almost comical how depressing and un-Chris they are.  “These are… fuck, I’m so bad at this.”  Chris pushes through and throws the flowers down on the dining room table, the plastic wrapping suffocating the already-dead stems and audibly showing how powerful it is.  He turns to face Darren and tilts his head.  His eyes are full of a pitiful, silent mess of an apology.   

Darren stares at him.  He lowers his eyes, swaying to pick up the chaotic bunch of flowers but pokes himself with a sharp thorn.  He tosses them off to the side in pain.  He raises an eyebrow - these flowers are here to ruin his life.  He picks them up again and smells them dramatically.  “Damn, Colfer.  Flowers?  Since when do we do flowers?”  He flutters his eyelashes at Chris and smiles into the bouquet. 

When he looks back up at Chris, he has no idea that a streak of bright blue dye is where his moustache should go. 

“For once in your life, can you _be_ serious?  I panicked and walked past the bodega on the corner and I just… shut up!”  Chris’ voice is angry in a way Darren hasn’t heard it in some time; something serious is happening in that pretty, little head and it makes Darren go stiff.  He needs him.  He’s here because he _needs_ him.  “Also, you have blue on your mouth.” 

“What?” 

Chris breaks the space between them in one stride and licks at the pad of his thumb, then swipes it above Darren’s lip.  Chris is a picture of perfect concentration, bottom lip captured between teeth and a visible Adam’s Apple.  He looks at his now blue thumb, then shows Darren with a shaking breath.

“What did that even come from?”

“That neon daisy in there.” 

“God, Chris.  C’mere.”  Darren opens his arms and Chris falls into them, a sense of longing shown all over his trembling body.   

“I didn’t mean to-” 

“I know.” 

“You weren’t-” 

“I was being a dick.” 

Chris’ voice is thick when he sniffles out a quiet laugh against the side of Darren’s neck. “Well, yeah. But I kind of deserved it.” 

“That’s where you’re supposed to say, ‘No Darren, never Darren!’”  Darren throws his voice into the octave higher than normal to mimic Chris, but he winds up just sounding like Blaine.   

“But then you’d still be a dick _and_ I would be a liar.”  Chris bends his back to look into Darren’s eyes.  “And we can’t have that.” 

“I’m off today.” 

“Yes, Sugar Daddy.  I know a thing or two about Broadway’s schedule.” 

Darren rolls his eyes.  “We could hang out all day.  All night, even.” 

“Now you’re pushing it.” 

“Says the man who just came here with the world’s ugliest fucking flowers. Please tell me you stole those, please tell me money was not exchanged.” 

“That’s your bodega’s fault.  I didn’t… it was a rash decision and clearly a terrible one that you don’t appreciate.”   

Darren knocks his shoulder against Chris’ with a wide grin. “Wanna make another rash decision?” 

Chris raises his eyebrows in amused wariness. “We can’t have sex, Darren.” 

“Shut up.  That’s not what I meant, but good to know it’s on your mind.  We really do need to talk all of this shit out...” 

“What’s option number two?” 

Darren steps back to grab his wallet and phone from the counter. “We continue to be reckless assholes and go do something fun for a couple of hours and deal with the real shit later.” 

Chris scrubs the palms of his hands over his eyes and lets out a comically loud sigh. “Where we going?” 

Darren’s grin is blinding. “Knew you’d see it that way.” 

He steps around Chris to open the door and keeps it open for him as Chris leaves the apartment.  Darren thoroughly enjoys the view when Chris continues to walk only three or four steps ahead of him down the hall toward the elevator. 

The best part about the mind numbing, slow-paced movie is the fact that they can’t possibly talk about their issues without interrupting the storyline for their fellow viewers and also that it feels like a real, normal date.  They collectively revel in the way it feels to sit next to one another with their elbows slightly overlapped on the armrest and their legs pressed tightly together from thigh to knee.  Chris’ touch is electrifying Darren’s skin and the tingle is perfection.   

All in all, it’s probably one of the safest activities Darren could suggest for 11 AM on a Monday morning, but it was the company he was seeking that’s the most important.  In the silence of the theater, he remembers that pressuring Chris into meaningful conversation ends up in cold shouldered disaster every time, so he decides to follow Chris’ lead this time. 

Darren grasps at Chris’ ring and pinkie fingers on the way home, if only to deliver a message of things he’d like to do and will, opinions be damned.  He’s unsure of Chris’ comfort level, but figures that he’ll pull away if he has to. 

“I say we get a bottle of something and get through it drunk.” 

Darren looks at Chris.  “Really?” 

“I’ll make myself talk if that’s what you need.” 

Darren studies his pale face for a moment before they continue down the busy sidewalk. 

Chris grasps onto Darren’s hand tighter and tangles their fingers together.  “I’m terrified, Dare.  You know that.” 

Darren only nods his head.  “I get that. But I don’t know exactly why. I mean if you’re only going to tell me to fuck off again before you head back to your asshole boyfr-” The icy glare Chris shoots him stops his words abruptly. “Or not. Either way, there’s not much you could tell me that would change anything about how I feel. Just so you know _that_.” 

“You have felt more like a boyfriend in the past week than he ever will.  Like, for the past five years, really.  I should have told you that a long time ago.” 

“Like right around the same time you realized, maybe?” 

“I didn’t know Jeremiah four years ago.” 

“His fucking name is Jeremiah?  I can’t with this information.  Do you understand what Jeremiah is to-” 

Chris’ mouth quirks into Darren’s favorite smirk. “I’m fucking with you.” 

“Oh thank God. There are some things that just can not be overcome, Christopher.” 

“It’s David Karofsky.” 

“Screw you.  I’m still so mad-” 

“Chandler.” 

“Changed my mind. You just killed this whole thing before it even began again.  Never darken my doorstep again, asshole.” 

“Sebastian Smythe.” 

“Chris.” 

“Fine.  I’m dating Blaine.” 

“Ha!  Like I’d ever go where that whiny little dipshit has been.  You’re just out of luck now.  Besides, your little boyfriend?  More of a Sam Evans than Blaine Anderson, thank you. Are you aware that he kind of looks exactly like Chord?” 

“He does not!  Besides… trashy, talentless, model types are your thing.  Not mine.” 

“Oh, is _that_ why I was so obsessed with you?  Huh.” 

“If I’m talentless, why do I have a Golden Globe on my fireplace?” 

Darren snorts and hooks his arm around Chris’, pulling him in the direction of a crosswalk. 

“Your ego’s back to play.  I definitely need that liquor.”   
  
Chris laughs and nearly stumbles off the edge of the curb as he gets pulled across the street. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story marked the first time that either of us have ever attempted to co-write with someone else, and I think it’s safe to say that the experience far exceeded either of our expectations. The fic has been such a self-indulgent, fun ride for us, writing above all else things that we enjoyed and that kept us entertained, and we can only hope that it felt the same way to our readers. Thank you all so much for taking this little ride with us, and we hope that you’ll come back to see where we take these two boys and their messy, glitter-crusted love next! We're in the writing stage now, so be sure to prompt us if there's something in particular that you'd like to see! THANK YOU!

**Chapter 7**

Darren places the bottle on the table and mumbles something about finding clean glasses.  His posture is defensive when he returns from the kitchen in a way that doesn’t suit the rest of the day they spent together, but Chris can’t really blame him because this talk is clearly fucking them both up and it’s hardly started. “So this is us fucking finally acting like grown ups and using our big boy words then?” 

He can’t fight down the wince that crosses his face any more than he can deny the truth behind the thinly veiled accusation. He draws in a shaking breath; it’s now or never.  He’s waiting.  Darren waits for him. 

“Let me get this out, okay? I’ll probably screw it up, because it’s hard to make sense of even just inside my own head, and I’ve been trying to for weeks.   Years.”  Chris closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.   _Now or never._ “I haven’t been happy, probably not for a while. I haven't been unhappy either, I've just sort of… _been_. Things aren’t making me sad, but they’re not making me excited either and it’s a tough pill to swallow.  I have a few friends who are family, and my books, my work schedule is laid out ahead of me for at least the next year, and it’s this whole world I’ve created for myself, by myself.   It’s a solid future doing what I love, you know?” 

He glances up to gauge Darren’s reaction. Chris has never found judgment in those eyes, and he’s grateful that it rings true even now.  Even when Darren was trying to shut him out, those wide golden river water eyes had always looked at him with an openness that he often feels he doesn’t deserve. And, God, he’s glad they don’t fail him now. Chris knows that if he moved one cushion over on the couch he would be accepted into the warmth that Darren represents for him. But he doesn’t, not yet. He wipes his hands off on the denim stretched tight over his thighs and makes himself go on.   

“We lived in this surreal, unrealistic world for so long. We were sort of secluded from so much that it’s hard to know now how to let go of it and move forward. But around you?  It’s easier to stay sheltered. You’re like this bridge between that old life and the new one. Dare, you’re the only thing I want to keep from _Glee_.  I don’t know what that means, but… hey, it’s out there now.  So.” 

“Is caring about me really that scary for you?” 

“Yes. Because you were always the thing I knew I wasn’t allowed to openly care about.” 

“My own fault.” 

“No, it’s wasn't.  Just-” 

“Yes it was. I made my choices and I’m so sorry that all of them hurt you.  Since the very beginning-” Darren’s voice cracks. He’s just so _tired_ of having something to hide. 

Chris shakes his head.  Darren can’t take all the blame for this.  “You listened to people that you thought had your best interest at heart. You were always too trusting.  It’s my biggest Darren Criss pet peeve.” 

“Hm.  So, what now?  We’re allowed to care now, Chris.” 

“That's why I’m here, to find out if that could even work.  Are we _ready_ to care, now?” 

“I don’t know.  I mean, you’ve got your little model boyfriend.”  Darren rubs at his eyes and huffs.  “And I have... shit. Look at me, five years later and I have a resume with the homosexuality popping off the fucking page, and yet, to everyone out there, I still have to be straight?  It’s fucking hilarious, really. Was there ever even a point to any of it?  Why wasn’t I allowed to be who I’ve always been?  Why were you allowed to be gay and I couldn’t?” 

“Darren, come on.  It wasn’t like that.” 

“It was.  You… You were able to keep your composure around me.  I had no physical control when I looked at you.  Failed.   Every single time I managed to fuck up, or said something I shouldn’t have, or got caught staring...  Whenever they had to sweep me under the rug?”  Darren looks at Chris.  He’s on the verge of tears, emotional, frustrated.  “I just wanted to _be_ with you.  Plain and simple.  It shouldn’t have been such a big deal.” 

“It shouldn’t have.” Chris agrees.  “But I didn’t make it easier on you either.” 

“You’re the only person in the world I want to keep fucking up with.  I hate that I’ve finally admitted all this shit and you have some boy toy that you need to run home to, you asshole.” Only Darren could manage a bittersweet smirk and an eye roll at the end of such a raw confession. 

Chris is shocked still.  “He isn’t any- I’m ending that. If it’s not already done just by the fact that I haven’t bothered to so much as text him in over two weeks. I ran away from LA, from him.  That must tell you something.” 

“What’s stopping you from running away from me once you’ve worked out whatever lingering nostalgia shit we have going on here?” 

“Darren…” 

“No, Chris. I need you to tell me something more than you care and how much it scares you. Because if you can run away from him, how can I know that you’re not going to do the same damn thing here, and then what? We spend another five years pretending that we haven’t wanted the same thing all along?  And then it’s ten years, fifteen, twenty years of the song and dance.  I don’t have another _reprise_ in me, Colfer.” 

Chris stares at Darren, who must have actually, really, truly referenced that word.  “Are you- did you… _“_ Chris shakes his head, his eyes burning with every blue and green and gray of a sea in a storm. There was no use questioning him further. Of course he would go there, it was _Darren_ , after all. 

“Task at hand, Chris.”  Darren smiles.  “Continue.” 

Chris blows all of the pent up air out of his lungs and swipes at the bangs sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead. The resulting mess is far more attractive on him than it has any right to be. “I really do not like you. And for the record, you can stop comparing yourself to him.  A thousand hims wouldn’t mess me up like you do.” 

“It’s kind of hard not to compare when he’s the random you decided to start screwing pretty much the minute I left. You do that, and you have every right to, I guess. Just like you’d have every right to turn tail and run when this gets too complicated and my life doesn’t fit you the way that you’d like it to. Again.  You knew back then that I would have done anything for you.” 

Chris’ eyes flash a dangerous color that seems to absorb every bit of light in the room. “ _Almost_ anything.” 

“They had me by the balls, Chris! What the fuck was I supposed to do? And I was a dumb kid who had no idea what I was signing. You of all people…” Darren closes his eyes and takes a long breath. “I have regretted not trying with you more than anything in my entire life. I can’t go back and change it.  All I can do is be here now.” 

Chris’ eyes clench tightly closed in tandem with the balling and slow relaxing of his fists. “Why are we yelling at each other?” 

Darren rises and sighs.  He starts to pace in the area behind the couch.  “Because you aren’t the only one who gets to be scared here!  I try to picture myself without you and I fucking can’t.  It haunts me, Chris.  Because I never had you in the first place.” 

Darren stops as Chris slumps all the way down into the cushion.  The moment stretches on for several beats in their collective chests and after what feels like a small eternity, Chris seems to come out of his trance and to some kind of decision.  He nods shortly without meeting Darren’s eyes. 

“We both screwed up.  Okay, fine. So make it up to me.  I’m putting myself out there, and I’m following your lead.  I choose you.  Whatever you want, however you’ll have me.  I’m tired of fighting with you and I’m tired of fighting with myself.”  Chris takes a deep breath, exhaling it shakily.  “I want you, Darren.  I always have.  Since Sutton fucking Foster, I’ve wanted you next to me.”  Chris’ eyes shine brightly, nervously, anxiously at Darren and he audibly swallows.  “I’m so tired.” 

“Fuck, Chris.  Why couldn’t you just… tell me?  Why’d we have to dance around each other for five years?” 

Chris stares down at the floor beneath his feet like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “I was too pissed off back then.  I was confused about my feelings for you, and how in the hell we could even pull it off.  Everyone was always… watching, I guess.  I was more aware of that world than you.  I noticed it and you were oblivious to it.  That’s the way you acted, at least.  I didn’t know what to do with it, so I backed off.   If I couldn’t have things just the way I wanted, then maybe I didn’t need them at all.  We were better off just being friends.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“When we started screwing around, I heard what was being said behind our backs, behind yours. People thought I was ruining you, so I kept my distance.  I was protecting you, in the stupidest twenty-year-old’s way.  I had no fucking idea what I was doing, now that I look back on it.” 

Darren’s hair falls into his eyes when he shakes his head but he doesn’t do anything to move it away. “You were close. I had to look at you every damn day, and smile and touch your arm or your back.  I had to work with you, Chris.  Then as soon as the cameras stopped rolling, I had to turn back into the guy who had no interest in you.  I had to watch you walk off to your trailer with whatever guy you were bringing around, and even then I didn’t want to stop. That is what ruined me.” 

“It’s not like you were alone either. I didn’t even know that you were paying attention at all.” 

“Pay attention? I was fucking _fascinated_ with you, Chris.  How could you have not seen that?” 

“Because I thought we were just being friends!  I mean, in our own kind of shitty way.” 

Darren rolls his eyes and lets out a breath that it feels like he has been holding for a very long time.  Years. 

“We made for terrible friends. Maybe it’s good that we didn’t jump into things.  Maybe we just weren’t ready back then.  Maybe it would have ended up making things even worse and more royally screwed up than they are now because we were both pretty damn stupid.” 

Chris nods.  That much he agreed with.  “I… I think I could be ready now.” 

“Me too.” 

Chris sees it happening in slow motion, sees Darren’s hand venturing toward his.  He stares as Darren connects them physically, as if the words they’re saying to each other aren’t enough. 

Chris gawks at their hands as one. It’s the very touch they’d always been so careful never to allow themselves to have. Until now, that is.  He rubs his thumb over Darren’s knuckles.  “I need to try with you now before I regret and second-guess every decision I’ve made since 2009.  Don’t let me destroy myself now. I’m too young for that.” 

“Are you saying you’ve... got no other choice?” 

“I hate you. Sometimes, I genuinely hate you.” 

“You know you can follow my voice…” Darren whispers the lyrics.  It means too much to be taken lightly. 

“I think the wicked little town in our story is LA.”  The reference is too close to home, though, so he resigns into himself.  His shoulders round inward and he swallows.   

“Maybe.” 

Chris shrugs weakly, like the action takes great physical effort under his sudden exhaustion.  He feels drained; they’re talking in circles. 

Darren licks his lips, eyes fixed on the far wall as he crowds the couch and slumps back into it. What they are talking about… Well, it could change everything. “You know what it will mean for me if I do this right? Because I can’t do the sneaking around shit anymore, Chris. I’m done with all that.  If I’m with you, I need to be yours according to everyone.” 

“If you’re ready for that, I’m ready for the backlash I’ll get for turning you gay and forcing you over to the dark side.” 

Darren nods.  “Ready.” 

“So we’re actually going to do this thing?” 

Their bodies move together like it’s a dance they’ve been doing for a lifetime. “What do you think?” 

Chris reclines his upper body backwards, moving further away from Darren’s, to keep direct eye contact. Darren follows him back, inch for angry inch. “It’s not going to be easy.” 

Darren pauses when their faces are just right there in each other’s bubbles.  He’s leaning slightly over Chris on the couch. “I don’t give a shit how hard it is.  Nothing compares to the past few years.” 

“This isn’t just you being my boyfriend within these four walls.” 

“I thought I just said that.   Keep up, Chris.” 

“And we’re not just having sex this time.” 

“Good to know.” 

“I don’t live in New York.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” 

“I’ll be in London for months.” 

”Gives me an excuse to use all my frequent flyer miles.” 

“And-” 

“And if you ever shut the fuck up, I could kiss you.” 

“Right.  Sure.  Then kiss me, if you need to.” 

It isn’t a sweet or tentative kiss between two people who are connecting for the first time. It’s a hard press of lips and teeth that are already more than acquainted with one another’s taste and heat. Darren opens his mouth first and feels it when Chris surges up and meets him press for press, stealing the air out of his chest like he’d stolen the ground out from under his feet. They’re not shy, they’re sure. This is something that has been brewing for a very long time finally realized in the open. 

“Oh my _God_.  We have a label.”  Chris grins and leans in to kiss Darren again, just as sure as he was a few seconds ago.  “Good.  This’ll be good.” 

Darren chuckles with Chris’ lower lips still held between his. “It was already good, now it can be fan-fucking-tastic.” 

Chris sits up suddenly, nearly banging their foreheads together. “Oh, speaking of.  Fans caught me at the theatre all week. Tumblr’s probably turned into a zoo already.” 

Darren pulls back with a soft huff. “You’re bringing this up now?” 

“There’s never a bad time for fangirl speculation.”  Chris winks.  “They think I’m here just for you.” 

“Aren’t you?” 

Chris pretends to be put out, offended.   “I have meetings.” 

“If you’ve been at the theatre all week, and when you’re not there you’re here, when are your meetings?  Three o’clock in the morning?” 

“I... cancelled them to go to the theatre.” 

Darren barks out a loud laugh, squinting his eyes in pure joy.  “That a fact?” 

“You looked so fucking incredible in those fishnets that I just couldn’t stay away.” The Cheshire cat grin that slips across Chris’ face makes Darren’s head spin. 

“Uh huh...” 

“That first night before I came backstage… I almost passed out, Suga-” 

Darren’s hand clamps down over Chris’ still moving lips. “Say it and I promise you will not get laid tonight.” 

“Come on, Sugar Daddy… bring it home.”  Chris sings, clear as a bell and ready to challenge what Darren’s said.  “I doubt that’s true, because that means you also don’t get laid tonight and I don’t think you’re willing or able to sacrifice that kind of thing.” 

“Fine, that’s it.” Darren uses both his hands on Chris’ chest to push himself up and off of the couch, only to be pulled back down, landing clumsily in the other man’s lap. 

Chris leans forward and nibbles on Darren’s ear.  “ _Whiskey and French cigarettes…”_

“ _Fuck_. You have been seeing it a lot.” 

“Well, also I knew the show before you were even born as Berlin… _a motorbike with high speed jets.  A Waterpik, a Cuisinart_ …”  Chris turns on his silly face.  “ _And a hypoallergenic dog_!” His hair bounces as he rolls his neck chaotically, mocking the very song and reason for Darren’s nickname. 

Darren finds the lines far sexier in Chris’ higher voice than he ever had in his own. “Damn. And here I thought I was special for a minute.” Darren stifles a moan behind his teeth when Chris’ lips begin to trail down his neck. “This is the weirdest fucking pillow talk ever. You know that, right?” 

Chris lowers his head to Darren’s shoulder with a quiet laugh. “But it’s working.” Hands slide from Darren’s thighs up to rest on each of his hips. 

“Oh, it’s fucking working.  I swear to you it’ll work.”  Darren plants his feet on the ground and pushes up, unbuttons, and lets his jeans fall in front of Chris.  He steps out of them, locking eyes with Chris once and for all.  “Do you still want me?” 

“You had better have a pair of those fucking tights.” 

“Are you kidding?  When no one’s around, I’m in the heels and tights.  For practice.” 

Chris lets his head fall forward with a quiet whimper. “The best part is, I actually believe that.” 

Darren pulls Chris to his feet and brushes their grinning mouth together. “You should.”  Darren runs away and returns quickly, with a pair of black fishnet tights dangling from one hand.  “I missed your kinks.” 

Chris hurries out of his shirt, fingers stumbling over the bottom two buttons. “You haven’t even scratched the surface, honey.” 

 


	8. An Update on My Best Friend

Hi, everyone. I'm sorry to update this without it actually being a chapter but there's something that you guys all need to know. 

As you know, Desi and I wrote this as well as plenty of other CC stories together. We wrote everyday. 

Desi has passed away. She's no longer with us. I would like to believe that she is in a better place now, though, given all the pain and suffering she had here on earth. 

It happened on Tuesday. I was the last person to talk to her, and she was in good spirits. She was happy. She lived a full life. You all helped with that. Every like and comment you had on her writing was something she was so proud of. She loved it, we fangirled over it every single time we got an email saying that someone liked our stuff. Thank you for being a part of her happiness. She deserved it, more than she knew. 

I am in touch with her family, so if you'd like to say anything to them, feel free to comment them here or find me on Tumblr or email me (becausehiships @ gmail). I will make sure I send every word you say about her to them right away. 

There's a piece of dialogue that Desi wrote in one of the one shots I plan on posting. I think I'll leave you all with that. I'll continue to post all of the pieces we worked on together as well as a few things I want to make pretty in her tribute. 

Please let me know if you want to talk to me. I'm around at the next few Darren events and I'd love to see you, talk to you, hug you. 

Thank you.  
Nikkie (of Desi & Nikkie)

“I just can’t help but think about what it would mean to leave our own mark on a place like this. We’d be this one, insignificant part of this enormous chronicle that branches out in every possible direction and doesn’t ever have an ending.”


End file.
